####Chapter three: The lines we shouldn't cross

Amara knew what obsession felt like.

It wasn’t romantic or poetic. It didn’t come with roses or love songs. It was the kind of fixation that kept her up at night, made her thighs press together under the covers, and haunted her in the quiet moments between meetings.

It sounded like Dominic Kane’s voice in her ear.

Felt like his breath on the back of her neck.

Looked like the smirk he wore every time she disobeyed him,only to end up exactly where he wanted her.

Under his thumb.

On edge.

Craving more.

It had been three days since the text exchange in his office. Three days of unbearable silence. He hadn’t summoned her. Hadn’t so much as brushed past her.

And it was driving her insane.

Because she couldn’t stop thinking about that moment—his voice, his words, the unreadable hunger in his eyes. And now, he was gone. Just… withdrawn. Distant. As if it never happened.

Maybe she imagined it. Maybe she read too much into it. Maybe it was a game, and she’d already lost.

But then Friday happened.

---

The Company Gala

The annual Kane Enterprises gala was a lavish affair,held at the Rosewood Tower, top floor, under crystal chandeliers and walls of glass.

Every executive was expected to attend. Every assistant was expected to look expensive.

Amara wore black silk that hugged her curves and a slit high enough to flirt with scandal. Her hair was swept to the side, revealing her collarbone and the faintest shimmer of perfume on her skin.

She walked in alone.

Eyes followed her. Whispers followed those eyes.

She didn’t care.

Because the only eyes she wanted weren’t watching her.

Not yet.

Then she felt it.

A presence behind her. A familiar tension in the air.

She turned slowly and there he was.

Dominic Kane.

In black-on-black tuxedo. No tie. Top buttons undone. A drink in hand. His stare fixed on her like a sniper’s scope.

Their eyes locked.

And the noise of the gala faded into silence.

He didn’t move toward her.

He just lifted his glass.

And smiled.

---

She mingled. She sipped champagne. She laughed at forced jokes. All while feeling his gaze track her every move.

And when she finally stepped outside onto the rooftop terrace for air, she wasn’t surprised when the door clicked shut behind her a minute later.

“You look…” his voice was hoarse, “like a bad decision I’m going to make anyway.”

Amara turned to face him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“Whether touching you would be worth the consequences.”

She swallowed. “And?”

He stepped into her space. “I’m about to find out.”

And then he kissed her.

---

The Rooftop Kiss

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was weeks of tension detonating all at once.

Dominic Kane kissed like he spoke—confident, consuming, unapologetic.

His mouth claimed hers, deep and hard, one hand sliding around her waist, the other gripping her jaw like he needed her closer. She moaned against him, fingers tangling in his jacket as her back hit the terrace wall.

“Say stop,” he breathed against her lips.

She didn’t.

His hand slid to her thigh, up the slit of her dress, anchoring her with a grip that made her gasp.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” he growled. “Walking around like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I do,” she whispered. “I just like watching you suffer.”

He chuckled darkly and then kissed her again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he was memorizing the taste of her.

But just as her fingers reached his belt, he pulled back.

She blinked, dazed. “What—”

“No,” he said, panting. “Not here.”

Her chest heaved. “Then where?”

He leaned in close. “My car. Now.”

---

The Drive

The car was a sleek, black phantom of a machine,warm leather, tinted windows, music low and seductive.

Amara sat beside him, legs crossed, trying to ignore the way her skin still tingled from his touch.

Dominic drove one-handed, the other resting lightly on her knee. His thumb traced circles, just above where the slit in her dress exposed bare skin.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured.

“I’m thinking this is a mistake.”

He nodded slowly. “And do you want to stop?”

Her answer was silence.

Then: “No.”

His grip tightened.

They didn’t speak again until they pulled into the underground garage of his penthouse.

---

Dominic Kane’s World

The elevator opened directly into his home—floor-to-ceiling glass, black marble, sharp edges softened only by the view of the city bleeding light into the night.

Amara stepped inside, heart pounding.

“Do you always bring assistants here?” she asked.

“Only the ones I plan to ruin.”

He slipped off his jacket, undid his cufflinks, and tossed them on a tray.

“Drink?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Good,” he said.

Then he crossed the room in two strides, backed her against the wall, and kissed her again.

But this time, it was different.

Slower.

More dangerous.

His mouth found her throat. His hands explored like he had all night to worship her.

And when she moaned his name, he paused.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

She hesitated.

Then nodded.

---

The First Submission

He guided her into the bedroom, it was minimalist and cold, except for the fire blazing in the corner.

“Strip,” he said softly. “But keep your heels on.”

She did.

His eyes followed every inch of bare skin like a prayer. And when she stood before him in nothing but stilettos and nerve, he exhaled slowly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “And mine.”

She shivered.

He reached for something in a drawer—silk cuffs.

Her breath caught.

“You can say no,” he said.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

The cuffs slid over her wrists, binding them gently behind her back.

Then he kissed her, long, deep, drugging.

And laid her on the bed like something precious.

What followed wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t crude.

It was worship.

His hands. His mouth. His words.

He took his time.

Made her beg.

Made her burn.

And when she finally shattered beneath him, screaming his name—

He kissed her again.

Soft this time.

Like maybe… maybe she wasn’t just a distraction after all.

---

But in the Afterglow…

Amara lay curled in his sheets, heartbeat slowing, skin humming.

Dominic was quiet. Watching her. That unreadable look back in his eyes.

“What?” she asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then: “This was a mistake.”

Her stomach twisted. “Excuse me?”

He stood, pulling on his slacks. “This was supposed to be simple. Physical.”

Her voice went cold. “It was.”

He turned to her. “You know it wasn’t.”

She looked away. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not the one who’ll ruin anything,” he said. “You are.”

She sat up, furious. “Why? Because I have a mind of my own?”

“Because you make me feel things I shouldn’t,” he snapped. “Because every time I look at you, I want to forget who I am.”

Her heart cracked a little. “Then maybe you should.”

But he didn’t answer.

Just stared at her like she was the most dangerous thing he’d ever let in.

And maybe she was.